A Family Forged in Feeling
by MyNameIsEmma
Summary: Bucky Barnes recovery fic featuring some OCs. Zara was expecting to arrive home to an empty house like she did every Friday. She wasn't expecting a hungry assassin to be stood in her kitchen looking like he barely knew which way was up. Her mom might freak out when she gets home. M for swearing because I'm paranoid when it comes to ratings.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I know, I know! I should have been working on the one-shots for my 'Hero' series but I've been really busy and just haven't had much motivation for the series lately.**

 **I did however, have this little idea demanding my attention for a while so I started writing. There are two complete chapters I'm going to throw up. Please let me know if you like it because I am just trying this one out at the moment.**

 **This is a Bucky Barnes recovery fic, probably because I've been reading far too many of them recently instead of revising and I have decided I needed to take a crack at it. Of course, with various OCs because I can't help myself.**

 **Please let me know if you would like to see more and I'll try my best.**

 **Thanks, and enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel of its creations but I do own my original characters. Please ask for their consent before touching, thanks!**

It happened at 5:30 in the evening on a Friday.

I almost always arrived home from school at 5:30 in the evening on a Friday. Any other school day I got home at 5 on the dot but Fridays Hannah and I always stopped for milkshakes at the diner five minutes away from the school. We would sit in the diner, drink our milkshakes and talk about anything we wanted until Hannah had to leave to catch her bus and I walked the rest of the way home.

Fridays were also the days that my mom did the weekly shopping. She always arrived home between 6:00pm and 6:30pm depending on whether traffic was a bitch or not on that particular Friday. It was our routine. Had been since I was old enough to make the walk home alone safely.

So from 5:30pm to 6/6:30pm on Fridays, I was home on my own.

Until I wasn't.

On this particular Friday I was listening to music like I usually did on the walk home so I was a little distracted by my favourite band of the week while I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, dropping my keys into the dish on the side table in the hallway, hanging my jacket in the closet under the stairs and kicking off my shoes in there too.

Mom and I live in a relatively secluded area. The walk up our driveway took three minutes and our closest neighbors are a five-minute walk away not including the driveway trek. The house had been left to my mom by my grandparents after they died. My grandad, Norman Reyes had been a successful businessman and my grandma, Margret had worked closely with him for many years.

They were rich.

Like really, really rich.

They had left their company to Uncle Damien who had been working his way towards CEO for many years before their death. Damien got the business and his little sister, my mom, got the fancy house and a substantial plot of land to go with it. Our backyard is more like a field that stretched for close to 200 yards and we owned a good 100 yards worth of land after that which was all trees that were fenced off from the rest of the forest so signify the territory.

And I lived there with just my mom.

Ah, such a simple life we lead.

Dad wasn't around anymore and we didn't often have a lot of people over for various reasons. So I was used to being alone in the house, I quite enjoyed it actually.

So it was quite a shock to find someone standing in the kitchen.

A very male someone.

A very tall, scruffy, kind-of-scary, male someone.

He was standing ramrod straight on the other side of the kitchen island where I had eaten breakfast that morning. A quick glance around the room showed that the back door was open and the lock seemed to be busted.

Any hope that my mom just hadn't told me she would be inviting over her caveman friend vanished at that point.

Then I noticed that the refrigerator was slightly open, - he better not have drunk my chocolate milk - casting a yellow glow over a small portion of the room but not quite touching the man stood in front of me. One glance at the man's face revealed absolutely nothing.

Now, I have always been a stupidly reckless person and the people in my life (read: my mom) seem to enjoy pointing that out to me on a regular basis (read: every time I do something stupid. So daily) but in that moment I was absolutely terrified to do the wrong thing. I coughed to clear my throat and took a deep breath in the hopes of sucking in a little courage.

"Hi?"

No response.

"Uh, who are you?"

No response.

"You really shouldn't be here. Did you break in?" _Yeah, Zara, ask the scary guy if he committed a crime._

Still no response.

I quickly realized that he wasn't actually staring at me but at the backpack, I was holding in my hands, more accurately the way I was fiddling with the straps. Immediately and self-consciously I moved to put it on one of the barstools at the island. Immediately his eyes snapped up to mine and his right hand was suddenly occupied by a very sharp-looking knife.

The look in those eyes was promising death if I made another bad move but the man himself was giving off a fearful vibe. I felt my eyes widening in surprise and I raised my left hand in the air in the universal sign of surrender.

"I'm just putting it down, see?" I moved slowly, not moving my feet as I leaned forward, one hand still in the air as I very, very slowly placed the backpack on the stool. I could feel myself starting to sweat but ignored the urge to wipe my brow in favor of very slowly raising my right hand in the air along with the left. The guy relaxed a little.

"Could you, uh, could you maybe put the knife away now?"

He met my eyes again and raised the blade slightly in the air as if to ask 'this?'

I took the chance and nodded. "You're intimidating enough without it, trust me." Internally, I was screaming at myself that I shouldn't have said that. But all he did was put the weapon away somewhere I couldn't see since my view was kind of blocked once again by the island. I was getting the feeling it was for his protection as well as mine somehow.

We spent a couple of minutes in silence. I gradually lowered my hands when they got tired and the guy said nothing about it. I glanced at the clock. 5:46pm. He glanced at the clock too.

I glanced around the room and came to a quick decision. The silence was getting annoyingly awkward and so was the staring that he was doing so I fell back on my favorite principle: wing it.

"My mom will be home soon." The man's eyes bore into mine. "She'll probably call the cops when she gets here, you really want to still be here for that?"

The man narrowed his eyes and started moving around the island again.

"Woah, woah, woah. I'm not threatening you." He stopped, looked surprised, then just stood there. "Are you going to tell me why you're here? What you were looking for?" I glanced at the refrigerator again. Besides the door, it was the only thing that had been disturbed. "Were you hungry?"

It was just for a second, a single second, but the man looked down, radiating shame and a hint of regret. Then he met my eyes again.

I raised an eyebrow.

We stood in silence for a few more minutes.

I sighed and crossed my arms. 5:51pm.

"You're not going to hurt me, are you?"

He inclined his head quizzically. I dared to smile.

"If you were going to, something tells me you could have and would have the second I walked into the room." He straightened up again and avoided eye contact for a moment. "Do you live nearby?"

He didn't answer. I sighed and leaned back against the counter. He watched me but did nothing about it. "Listen, you quite obviously don't want the cops involved and if my mom comes home and you're still here but you won't explain yourself then they definitely will be. Just talk to me. You could have left. I'm a seventeen-year-old girl I doubt I could have stopped you. But you didn't. I'm a curious person so I want to know why. Will you talk to me?"

He gave a small, jerky nod.

"Do you live nearby?"

He shook his head.

"That isn't exactly talking but okay." I looked over at him now that I could see his entire body. He was tall, with long, greasy hair, a scruffy beard, and well-worn clothes. I raised an eyebrow at the glove on his left hand but said nothing. "Do you live anywhere?"

He hesitated before shaking his head.

"Why did you break in here?"

He hesitated again. "Hungry." The word sounded like it was made of glass shards that had clawed their way out of his throat. He coughed. "The house was empty." The words came out quiet and rough like he hadn't spoken in a while but his voice was a little smoother than before.

"Are you hurt?" I noticed he had begun favoring his left side during our little talk.

He nodded but broke off to stare in the direction of the front door. A few seconds later I heard mom turning the key and opening the door. How he had heard that was beyond me. The man took a step back so that he was out of sight and I looked back at him. "Stay here?" He didn't give a reply but I was already heading off to meet my mom at the door.

"Here I got those," I took the bags from my mom and set them just outside the kitchen door before taking her arm and dragging her into the living room.

My mom is just slightly taller than me at 5'8 with the same chocolate brown hair as me except where I had gotten mine dyed red at the bottom. We both have brown eyes and pale skin, both relatively skinny. All in all, we're quite similar.

"Zara," mom laughed. "Zara honey what is it?"

"Don't freak out mom."

"Why would I freak out."

"Someone broke in."

"What?" mom hissed, instantly in protective mother-bear mode. "Did you call the police?" I shook my head. "Why the hell not? Are you okay?" She started looking me over but a brushed her hands off.

"I'm fine mom. Listen, he's still here."

She froze.

"He's what?"

"In the kitchen." Mom's eyes widened and she spun around and started moving. "No!" I pushed past her and blocked the living room door.

"Zara!" mom whisper-yelled. "Move."

"No. Mom, he isn't going to hurt us. He was just hungry."

Mom stopped trying to get past me and raised an eyebrow.

"Hungry? Zara did that stray cat get in again; is that what you're talking about?"

I rolled my eyes. "Not a cat, a man. The only thing he touched was the fridge. Well, I think he broke the back door but that's it."

"He broke the back door and you don't think he'll hurt us," she deadpanned. I winced.

"When you put it like that I sound crazy. But mom, please, just talk to him. I think he might be hurt."

We stared at each other for a few moments, mom trying to make me back down and me silently pleading with her.

"Mom, we can help this guy. I'm sure of it. If we can help someone, we should. Isn't that what you taught me? Isn't that why you became a nurse?"

Mom sighed. "Who raised you to be so manipulative? It certainly wasn't me."

I grinned and hugged her.

When we carried the shopping bags into the kitchen the man was back on the other side of the kitchen island but I didn't get the feeling that he was hiding from us, more trying to keep himself away from us. Mom stopped for a moment in the doorway to observe the man and the room as a whole before sighing and placing the bags on the counter.

"Zara, unpack the groceries please."

I rolled my eyes but got to work on unpacking while also keeping an eye on my mom and the stranger. I watched as mom rounded the island but stayed just out of reach and the man watched her warily.

"My daughter didn't tell me your name."

He glanced at me and I caught the 'I didn't tell her' he was communicating with it. I hid my smile by putting the ice-cream in the freezer. There was silence behind me for a few moments and when I turned around he seemed to be struggling. He was confused. By his name. Mom and I shared a glance across the room.

"James. I think."

"You think?"

"He called me Bucky."

"Who did?"

"The man on the bridge."

"What man?"

"On the bridge."

The 'duh' slipped out under my breath and my mom glared at me fiercely for it.

"Zara."

"Right, groceries."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, let's table the 'man on the bridge' thing. Are you hurt?" He nodded. "Where and how?" He didn't answer. "I'm a nurse, I can help you."

He glanced at me and I paused from where I was kneeling on the counter to hide the Oreos in my usual spot. It took a couple of seconds before I realized why he was looking. I grinned at him. "She's a really good nurse."

He turned back to my mom. "They were shooting at me."

I almost fell off of the counter when I spun around.

"Were you hit?" Mom's voice remained steady but the shift in her stance told me she was as alarmed as me by the possibility.

He nodded.

"I'll get the kit." A slapping sound was made when my feet hit the floor as I jumped down from my perch before scurrying off to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom. When I came back mom had apparently coaxed James into sitting down on one of the stools. He looked just mildly surprised and my mom looked slightly horrified. "Did I miss something?"

Mom gave me a not-at-all-convincing reassuring smile as she washed her hands and put on some medical gloves before holding her hands in front of her.

"I need you to take off your jacket and shirt."

James very much did not like that idea. He shifted in his seat and glanced from left to right as if preparing an escape route.

"She's just trying to help," I tried to reassure him. "Besides, whenever I let her go all nurse-mode on me I get ice-cream afterward. You want some?"

"James," mom spoke softly, in her 'patient-voice' as she waited for him to meet her eyes. "Please."

I finished putting the last few groceries away and stuffing the plastic bags into a drawer by the sink before hopping up to sit on the island while James was considering removing the clothes like he was told to.

"Zara."

I turned to my mom. "What?"

She just raised an eyebrow so without taking my eyes away from her I slowly pulled out a stool with my foot and slid off of the island onto it, resting my elbow on the counter and my chin in my hand. Mom nodded approvingly and we turned back to James. Both of us froze. He wouldn't meet either of our eyes but he had taken off his jacket, shirt and his glove. I can't speak for my mom but I know that my eyes instantly zeroed in on his left arm. His _metal_ left arm.


	2. Chapter 2

First, I'd just like to say that thing is scarily beautiful. My eyes trailed up from the intricate detail of his hand, along the plates and mechanics that made up his forearm to the red star surrounded by scratches and markings and then onto the seams – more like _burns_ \- where metal met flesh. From there I let my eyes wander to the bloody mess that was his left side. He seemed to have only been hit once but it looked like a fucking mess.

I had years of mom bringing me to the hospital with her when she couldn't get a sitter for me when I was younger to thank for the fact that the sight of his blood didn't immediately make me want to throw up. The idea that someone had done this to him almost did though.

I knew who he was when I saw the metal arm, I'm sure mom did too. He was The Winter Soldier. The man on the news almost a month ago trying to kill Captain America. The same man that Captain America had been asking people for information on if they ever saw him. The same man Captain America had claimed had been brainwashed into doing what HYDRA had made him do. The same man I had spent hours ranting to my mom about after I had found some information on him from Black Widow's info dump a month previously.

After a couple of seconds, mom heaved a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose before studying James once more.

"Is there even any point fighting you on this?"

"Would you want to if you could?" I asked, knowing she was addressing me.

"No."

I grinned. "I love you, mom."

"I love you too, honey. Now, James, I'm going to need you to put your left arm up here on the counter so I can get better access to your wound."

Slowly, James looked up to my mom, glanced between us, then focussed back on my mom. "You still want to…help me?"

Mom looked at me and then smiled wryly at James. "My name is Emily Reyes, this is my daughter, Zara. I'm going to fix up your side, Zara is going to make some dinner then we are going to talk and you have the option of staying in one of the guest bedrooms tonight."

"Curry?"

Mom nodded and poked at James' left arm to get him to place it on the counter while I started on dinner. Not long later, James was fixed up and wearing a shirt again – much to mom's disappointment apparently. Can't hide anything from me dear mother… - and dinner was cooking slowly.

"So," mom started, "the man on the bridge, was _the_ Steve Rogers?"

I almost fell off of my stool.

I was staring at James. James was staring back at me. Mom was glancing between us with a fond smile. "He called you Bucky. Oh my God." I sprinted out of the kitchen and ran to my bedroom looking through the box under my bed. When I slid back into the kitchen my mom was stirring the curry sauce and James was still sitting in the same spot. I ran over beside him and smiled. "You said your name was James." He nodded. "This James?" I questioned as I placed the history textbook on the counter, open to page 96.

"Surprised it took you that long," mom came over to join us.

"Been a long day," I mumbled in response.

"Where did you get this?" James asked with wide eyes.

"It's a school textbook. I'm kind of a history nerd." His hands were shaking as he reached out and traced the picture of himself on the page. An overwhelming feeling of loss came over me. "You can keep it if you want." He looked up at me. I shrugged and turned away to hide my face as I poured myself a glass of milk. "It's from last year. We've finished that course."

When I turned back he closed the book but kept one hand resting on it. He didn't say anything but he nodded at me and the feeling of gratitude washed over me. My mom's pride out-shone it though as she placed an arm around my shoulders. I gave a practiced smile to the room.

"James," she said as she sat across from him, "the people you used to work for-"

"I'm not going back," he interrupted, voice quiet but steely. "I won't go back." I could tell he meant it and conveyed that to mom with a single look.

"Good, because if you plan to stay here and let us help, which - lord help me - I hope you do, then you need to know a few things about us."

"Mainly about me," I interjected as I gave the sauce one last stir before turning the heat down low and put the rice on to boil. When I turned back around, mom had fixed me with an exasperated look that I was on the receiving end of far too often.

"Yes," she deadpanned. "Mainly about Zara." Mom's attention returned to James as she sat down on a stool across from him and pulled me down by my sleeve into the stool beside her. "What do you know about mutants?"

I raised an eyebrow at my mom but she was staring intently at James who was looking back at her with a mildly quizzical air about him. I hadn't expected her to go right for the mutant thing. Maybe beat around the bush about it for a little but not to throw it right out there and ask him.

"I know a little," he said. "I know they are people who can do…things…that other people can't. I know that HYDRA has devoted an entire division to hunting them and experimenting on them to try to figure out their mutation."

"We call it the X-gene." Mom gave me a sharp look. I looked down. "Sorry."

Mom sighed.

"What is your opinion on mutants?"

"My…opinion?" The man looked genuinely surprised to be asked that but he quickly shook it off and shrugged. "A lot of people are different." He nodded to his arm. "I'm different."

I watched as mom stared down the world-class assassin and former Howling Commando for several minutes before she seemed satisfied with finding whatever it was she had been looking for.

"You said you're never going back?"

"Never."

"You promise that if you decide not to stay and let us help that you won't tell anyone about us?"

He didn't instantly agree and for that I was thankful. If he had of I wouldn't have believed him for a second and I know my mother wouldn't have either. Instead, he stared straight back at my mom for a few moments before staring at me with the same intense, confused gaze. Then he shifted, straightening his posture and locking eyes with my mom again. He nodded.

"I promise."

The sincerity in those words that washed over me is something I don't think I could ever explain with words but I will sure as hell give it a shot. The shift from unsure to certain happened gradually at first but then from one instant to the next it was as though someone had slammed the brakes and pulled him to an abrupt decision. The genuine certainty that he had that he would not tell a soul hit like a brick wall. I could feel that in the sea of uncertainties within the man's life, James was sure about this. He would not tell anyone.

"I'm a mutant."

"Zara!"

"My mutation is empathy."

"Give me strength…"

"Empathy?" I had James' full attention, though he glanced briefly at my mom when she scolded me.

I nodded.

"I can feel other peoples' emotions. It's kind of like telepathy – reading a person's thoughts – but not as accurate. For instance, I can tell when you are feeling confused or surprised or scared but I don't know why unless it's something obvious. Right now I know you are a little bit surprised and if I wanted I could focus and find the root of that emotion to find out why but that takes too much energy and focus. Besides, I don't like doing that unless I have to because it's pretty invasive."

"Zara," mom interrupted. "Why don't you go wash up for dinner? I'll plate it up."

I nodded and made my way out of the kitchen as mom turned to the stove to sort out the dinner. When I came back down the hallway towards the kitchen I stopped just outside the closed door. I could feel how tense my mom was feeling on the other side and the slight confusion of James.

"- all well and good but listen," my mom sighed, "Zara didn't explain everything there is to know about what she can do and I know there are a few things she would have left out. Zara's mutation can be…tricky. Because of that, she can sometimes project her own emotions on other people nearby if the emotions she feels are strong enough and she loses her hold on them. She keeps a tight lid on her abilities and she can't be expected to maintain that constantly so sometimes things slip through."

"She seems like a good kid." James' confusion melted into understanding.

Mom huffed a laugh. "Yeah, but she can be a little reckless sometimes. She follows her gut a lot and while I encourage her instincts they've gotten Zara in a lot of trouble before. Especially where her mutation is concerned. Just… If you stay here just promise me something. Promise me you won't hurt her. I know that you've been through a lot – to put it lightly – and I know that that will come with a hell of a lot of baggage. PTSD, flashbacks, nightmares the whole nine yards and I _want_ to help you. I do. But that is my little girl out there eavesdropping on this conversation."

"Dammit," I whispered just before making a show of sweeping into the room as though nothing happened. "Food ready? Yum." I grabbed two bowls of food from the counter, kissed my mom on the cheek in thanks and sank back onto the stool I'd been sitting in before. I slid the second bowl across the island and James stopped it with his right hand, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Mom rolled her eyes and passed us both spoons as she sat down with her own food and we dug in. Well, mom and I did. James hesitated long enough for it to be my turn to roll my eyes.

"You put the food on the spoon and then put the spoon in your mouth. Swallow and repeat. See?" I made a show of scooping up some rice and curry and eating it. He looked highly unamused but he finally began eating. Eating as though he hadn't in a week. Which might be accurate, now that I think about it.

I frowned as I focussed a little more and could feel the pang of hunger that had been radiating from him since I first saw him. It was like a quiet hum compared to the mess of other things he was feeling which explained why I didn't sense it before. I shook it off and pulled myself back to myself to see that he was already half way done. I grinned when mom tried to casually glance back at the left-overs. Let me tell you, the woman would never make it as a spy.

James had almost cleaned his plate when we were still only half-way through our own food.

"There is extra on the stove if you want it."

James studied me for a moment before nodding.

I shrugged. "Help yourself then."

"Zara!" Mom elbowed me and I glanced up.

"What?"

Mom glared. "James is our guest."

I stared. "You aren't serious." Mom's expression didn't waver. "Fine." James gave up his empty plate without much protest and I begrudgingly filled it up again with the leftovers, making a show of grumbling about it the entire time while suppressing a small smile when I felt the amusement of both of them behind me.

After the food mom showed a rather quiet – and by that I mean silent - James the guest room he would be staying in, down the hall from the two of us on the second floor and then made me change the sheets while the two of them returned downstairs to talk.

"Subtle," I murmured as she passed me by. We both knew she was just making sure I wasn't left alone with the guy still clutching my favourite textbook like a lifeline.

Something told me the next few nights would be quite an experience.

 **A/N: So please review and let me know if you're looking more, I might be writing it anyway but I need to find the time first.**

 **Curse you, exams.**

 **\- Emma**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So I do plan to continue this but updates will likely be rare for a while as I need to get time to write. My apologies.**

 **Also, kind of figure I want this to be a little light and fluffy compared to some of the darker recovery fics if you didn't notice. Thank you so much for the support in favouriting and following. If you are enjoying it so far I do suggest following just so you don't miss any updates since they may be at any moment - sorry!**

 **\- Emma**

Getting James to open up about himself was an experience akin to pulling teeth. Not that I have or ever would partake in such a chore but I imagine the process to be similar. Well, not physically. But still.

It took an hour of silence for the guy to actually start talking and even then he only said as little as he could get away with. We told him everything that we already knew about The Winter Soldier and he filled in a couple of blanks but majorly refused to talk about it all much. In fact, when mom brought up the people that The Winter Soldier had supposedly killed, James almost bolted. His eyes flickered side to side quickly and I could feel the air around him grow thick with his unease right before he stood and started for the door.

He had only stopped when mom had slipped in front of him and put both hands out in front of her in a placating gesture.

"Look, we just want to help you. We don't care who Hydra killed or what they wanted. I shouldn't have asked. Okay? I get that. But if you are going to stay here with us I wanted to cover as many bases as possible, lay all of our cards on the table so that all of us are at ease as much as we can be. I don't think you're going to try to kill us in our sleep and I'm certain that Zara isn't worried about that either." Mom lowered her hands as James seemed to relax marginally.

"You can have a clean slate here if you want; we're pretty open people. We won't hold anything you may or may not have done in the past against you. That's done. It's over," I added.

Mom smiled at me and returned her attention to James who was looking down at the floor, various emotions swirling around him.

"That said," she began in a more forceful tone. I raised an eyebrow questioningly as I felt her resolve harden. She waited until he met her eyes before continuing, "You will be held accountable for the choices that you make while here. If you choose to hurt us, if you choose to break something, if you even think about choosing to drink milk straight from the carton then we will have serious problems."

I grinned at James' confusion and leaned in. "It's a real pet-peeve of hers. Just don't do it."

Mom shook her head in exasperation and I turned my grin on her.

A few hours later and she had chased us both off to bed, stating that James probably needed a good night's sleep in a real bed while she knew I'd be up for another few hours online and she herself was exhausted. She'd called into work for a few days off but I assumed ( _correctly_ , might I add) that she would probably still be awake at 7am the next morning.

. . .

Personally, my Saturday morning began at far too early and far too abruptly with a 7:22 am wake-up alarm consisting of the most potent sense of fear I'd ever picked up on. I was out of my bed and sprinting down the hall almost instantly when I recognized the emotion and source, heart pounding in tune with my bare feet on the carpeted staircase as I heard my mom shouting out James' name and my breath caught as I slid to a stop outside the open living room door.

My mom was the first thing I saw. On the floor beside an overturned oak coffee table, leaning back on her hands with her knees folded under herself as she pushed herself up into a crouched position. I was kneeling beside her immediately. One glance revealed she wasn't hurt in any way, just shocked. The fear was emanating from James. Mom was calling out to him quietly and talking nonsense that fell on deaf ears.

Despite her attempts, I wouldn't let mom pull me backward as I dodged her hands and proceeded to tip-toe towards the figure stood rocking against the wall in the corner by the fireplace. I approached him slowly, with my hands out in front of me, palms up.

I shook mom's hand off my shoulder and sent a surge of calm in her direction, feeling her reluctant acceptance reflecting back as I continued to approach James.

"James?" No answer. His hands were clasped over his ears and he was muttering something under his breath as he continued to rock back into the wall, almost hitting his head on the wall. "Come on, Bucky, you're starting to scare us."

No answer again. I sighed and glanced around quickly, looking for some kind of inspiration – some way to help like my instincts were screaming at me to - before falling back on a lesson an old teacher once taught me.

Sometimes, there is nothing that you can do.

"James? Bucky? I know you're scared, okay? I know that but I promise you that nothing bad is going to happen. Right, mom?"

I looked back and saw her nod from where she stood behind me. "Of course."

"See?" I smiled at him, even though his eyes were closed tightly. I sent a small surge of my determination and calm towards him.

He relaxed minutely against the wall. His slow rocking ceased.

"We're going to stay here with you if that's okay. If you want us to. Do you want us to?" He didn't respond. I glanced at my mom. She nodded. "Right. Well, we're going to stay and if you want us to leave the room you can tell us and we will. But for now, we'll stay. We can talk later."

I stepped back and wrapped myself in my mom's waiting arms, knowing that her eyes rested sorrowfully on the frightened man in the corner of our living room just as mine did. James seemed to be calming gradually on his own so I didn't want to break the spell that had descended on the room with words. I sent a surge of confusion to mom and the regretful response from her was almost palpable even in the midst of our guest's ever-burning fear.

I wrapped my arms around her tighter and hid my face in her shoulder, sending assurance and no judgment her way before blocking out my connection to both of them and closing my eyes. I was tired.

Being an empath is tough sometimes.

. . .

I woke up on the couch over an hour later with the beige throw blanket draped over me. The coffee table had been righted and sat proudly in the center of the room again, though the ornament that usually sat on top was missing.

The smell of coffee and pancakes fully awoke me from my drowsy state as I fumbled to pull the throw off me and stumbled into the kitchen. James was at 'his' spot – where he sat the night previously - at the kitchen island while mom was just turning towards me with a steaming purple mug filled with coffee in each hand.

Just as I hummed in pleasure and reached out for the closest one she ducked out of my reach and moved around the island to hand one to James.

"Mother!"

She didn't even look up at me but spoke with an innocent tone and a smirk on her face as she took a seat and opened up her newspaper. "Yes, darling Zara?"

"Coffee!"

"Yes. James and I are drinking coffee. Would you like some?"

I blatantly ignored James' amused observation of our interaction as I nodded vigorously in response. Mom finally looked up at me and took a sip from her own mug.

"Make your own then. We had pancakes, yours are under the heat."

I placed a hand over my heart and gave a dramatic sigh. "And here I was beginning to think you didn't love me." I took my pancakes out from the heated oven and switched it off. I left them on the island and began preparing my coffee. When I finally sat down, feeling entirely comfortable in my fluffy pajamas while sitting across from my professional-looking mother and the ex-assassin dressed in one of uncle Damien's shirts that was about two sizes too small on him.

James slid a bottle of syrup across the island without a word and I caught it with thanks just as he took his first sip of the coffee. I'll give him props for valiantly swallowing the brown liquid anyway but the look on his face alone told me James did not enjoy doing so. Immediately afterward he spat something in another language under his breath. I couldn't prevent the laugh that bubbled up as I got up and grabbed a bag of sugar and a teaspoon.

"Add some of this, make it sweet if it's too bitter for ya."

I saw mom trying to hide her own amused smile as he chucked 3 loaded spoonfuls into the drink, stirred, and tasted. We watched him contemplate the flavor for a moment before he pushed the rest of the sugar away.

Mom continued reading her paper, I ate my pancakes and James sipped his coffee while appearing to be deep in thought. After a few minutes, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes got distant and the vibes he was giving off began to be clouded by discontent.

"So, was that Russian?" Mom asked casually.

James paused for a moment, mug halfway to the island counter before replying slowly. "Yes, Russian."

"You fluent?"

James nodded.

"You ever been to Russia?"

James stalled again but this time I was the one to reply to her.

"It'd be a bit weird if he knew the language and hadn't been, wouldn't it."

"Zara,"

"Yes?"

"I speak French."

"Uh huh."

"Have I ever been to France?"

"I don't ask questions about what you did in your youth, mother."

"Zara."

I smiled innocently at her before shrugging. "Your point has been made. Sorry."

"I've been," James spoke.

"To France?" I questioned curiously.

"Russia," he answered with the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Oh." I looked down at my now empty plate, sticky with syrup. "Well don't I feel dumb this morning."

Mom laughed airily while James huffed a breath I was willing to accept as a laugh.

"What are your plans for the day sweetheart?"

I shrugged. "Got the afternoon shift at Mack's but it starts at 2 pm so Probably just some homework. Why?"

"Oh, I was just thinking we should go shopping, get James some clothes. Maybe stop in at that new boutique in town."

James looked mildly concerned at the prospect but my brain kicked in at the word 'shopping'.

"Yes! Okay, it's like, 9 am now. Shall we leave at ten? Then we'll have plenty of time to shop and I need to get dressed and a shower and James, please also shower. You smell like a sewer." The indignant look received in return was well-worth the potential angering of a dangerous ex-assassin. The sharp 'Zara!' from mother was not.

"No offense," I added as I ran from the room.

"Zara!"

"What?"

"Dishes!"

I sighed. "So close."

. . .

"It'll be fine."

"Zara, no."

"I know what I'm doing, Mom. Relax."

"You are not going."

I groaned in annoyance and threw my head back to glare at the ceiling for a second. James had decided to heed my advice and take a shower just after me but while I was getting ready he and my mom had gotten to talking. I'm assuming the conversation was rather one-sided based on how little the man had actually spoken so far. Anyway, he had expressed certain…concerns about being seen in public, especially with other people. Apparently, Hydra is still a very big threat for him.

So, there I was, offering my mother a reasonable compromise that would allow me to fulfil my desire to shop, would assuage the majority of James' concerns, and would allow him to stop wearing Damien's old clothes. Admittedly it was funny to see him squeezed into that shirt but it just wasn't practical.

Yet, mom – for some reason – was being stubborn and unreasonable. Probably where I got it from. I know she wasn't afraid of being alone with James because she wasn't even really _afraid_ of me being alone with James, just too cautious for her own good sometimes.

"You don't think it would be at all suspicious that a 17-year-old girl would be buying a bunch of male clothing?"

Good point. However…

"Male clothes are comfortable, besides, it's uncle Damien's birthday in two weeks so if anyone asks I'll say it's his birthday present."

"And what about the people who don't ask, hmm?"

"You heard James, he threw his Hydra tail days ago it's highly unli-"

"He _thinks_ he threw his Hydra tail!"

"When did you become paranoid?"

"When you convinced me to let an assassin stay in our house!"

The kitchen felt incredibly quiet as our shouting ended abruptly. James' shower must have ended during our conversation at some point but he remained upstairs, his presence acknowledged in the back of my mind almost always now.

"Ex," I said softly, watching as mom's eyes softened slightly and the tension in her shoulders melted away. "Ex-assassin. You heard him last night, he doesn't do that anymore."

"Oh, sweetie, I know." Mom placed her hands on my upper arms and met my eyes. "I know, I didn't mean it like that it's just…it's my job as a mother to protect you and that just became a whole lot harder in my eyes."

"Mom, you know he wouldn't hurt us. I know you do, from the moment you saw him in the kitchen you knew that, just like I did."

"Of course I know that sweetie, it isn't James that I'm worried about."

I rocked forward slightly to wrap her up in a hug. "Hey mom? We met James yesterday. Found him in our kitchen having broken the back door and probably stolen some food yet now we've basically adopted him like you won't let me adopt Sergio s-"

"That damned cat…" she grumbled. I grinned.

"So I gotta ask: are we, like, crazy or just super nice?"

Mom smiled as she backed out of our hug. "Zara, I have never met a kinder soul than you. Now don't go overboard with the shopping trip and stay safe."

"Cool. Can I take the car?"

"You passed your test less than a month ago. No, you cannot take the car."

"Ugh. Fine."


End file.
